


a crosshair locked on my heart

by shatteredhourglass



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (Not An Innuendo), Accidental Bonding, Accidental Voyeurism, America's Largest Ball Pit!, Anal Sex, Bottom Clint Barton, Clint's Just Like 'Ah Yes This Is My Life Now', Deaf Clint Barton, Don't Touch Dr Strange's Stuff Kids, M/M, Mind Reading, POV Bucky Barnes, Porn with Feelings, Psychic Bond, This Whole Thing Is An Accident, Top Bucky Barnes, but in a good way, no plot though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 20:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19483639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredhourglass/pseuds/shatteredhourglass
Summary: In which Bucky and Clint mess with things they shouldn't, and end up with a psychic bond they're not particularly upset about.





	a crosshair locked on my heart

“This is why Steve was supposed to be looking after Strange’s place, not you two,” Natasha says with a sigh, sitting down at the conference table. She’s got a streak of dirt smeared on her cheek, but otherwise, she’s immaculate, as usual. The rest of them look like they’ve been hit in an explosion- which they had, sort of. Bucky wonders if he can get her to take pity on them, and then immediately ditches the idea. There’s no way that’ll work. Natasha’s a hardass at the best of times.  
  
Steve might be a soft touch, though. He wasn’t there to see what had happened. Bucky turns wide blue eyes on him, trying to look as innocent as he possibly can. “We didn’t know what it’d do, Stevie.”  
  
“You still shouldn’t have been playing with Stephen Strange’s things, Buck,” Steve says. There are the Eyebrows of Disappointment. _Fuck_. Goddamnit. The amusement that filters into the back of his mind isn’t coming from him, and it itches uncomfortably as he very determinedly does not look at Clint. He gets the feeling Clint is looking at him, but he chooses to give Steve a look he’s told is similar to a kicked puppy. Steve’s expression doesn’t budge in the slightest and he sighs.  
  
“It’s not my fault,” Clint says from behind him, defensive. “He started it!”  
  
“I did _not_. Fuck off, Barton.” _ **You were the one who kept daring me to touch things,**_ Bucky thinks grumpily.  
  
_**Oh, like you didn’t get me to touch the naked statue’s dick,**_ comes the reply, immediate and echoing in his brain. Clint’s thoughts are loud. _ **You’re not more mature than me just because you’re technically an old man. And you stole my pants yesterday.  
  
**__**Oh, we’re talkin’ about being childish? You start weekly prank wars,**_ Bucky retorts. He’d only had to steal Clint’s jeans because Clint had ripped his.  
  
_**Yeah, but those are inspired. Remember when I covered the hallways in Jello?  
  
****I remember falling on my ass. Didn’t the Hulk nearly toss you out a window for that one? Don’t forget the time you swapped my shampoo with hair dye.**  
  
**You were a hot redhead! Anyway, that was supposed to be for Steve.**  
  
**Steve didn’t even use that bathroom, Barton.**  
  
**Aw, don’t hold a grudge, baby.**  
  
**Grudges are all I have left,**_ Bucky thinks in the mental equivalent of a deadpan. He hears Clint’s snickering at him a second later and sees Steve squint over his shoulder at the blond, disappointed look increasing tenfold. Whoops. That doesn’t help their case. He tries to think of something boring.  
  
“Looks like you’re stuck like that for a while, according to Strange,” Tony announces as he enters the room, waving at Bucky and Clint. “Serves you right, really- I expect this shit from Katniss, but Terminator? Is your bullshit contagious, Barton? Should we be quarantining you?”  
  
“If you locked him in somewhere he’d just get out again in five minutes,” Natasha says with the kind of resignation that suggests she’s tried it before. The amusement itching at the back of Bucky’s brain turns faintly smug.  
  
“So yeah, you’re just going to have to deal with reading each others’ minds. Psychic bond, Strange said,” Tony adds. “If you can’t handle it, the cryochamber’s waiting in Wakanda.”  
  
Bucky grimaces at the idea and he feels a stab of panic that doesn’t come from him. He glances over his shoulder at Clint, who’s face is a carefully constructed mask of boredom. “No. No way.”  
  
The panic eases up, then, and it really sinks in. They’re stuck like this. Clint can sense his emotions and thoughts, and Bucky can _definitely_ feel his- the constant feedback is like background static, a low hum of a presence in his head that feels strange and alien. He supposes it could be worse. He could be stuck with Sam, or even worse, _Steve_. God forbid Steve be able to hear his thoughts. At least he’s got Clint, who’s easygoing and doesn’t try to therapy-talk him.  
  
They spend a lot of time together anyway, which is what caused this problem in the first place. He’s around Clint enough that Steve’s convinced they’re fucking. They’re not, but they’ve grown close enough with one another that Bucky’s anxiety doesn’t turn into a full-blown panic attack. He’s not going to run off and hide himself away just because they made a stupid mistake. Doctor Strange should label his mystical artifacts better if he doesn’t want things like this happening. That, or he should come up with some spell to keep Clint out of the building.  
  
Then again, Clint would find his way in anyway.  
  
He looks at the way Clint’s feet are kicked up on the table, long legs on display, and tries not to think of anything. Judging by the slow smirk that creeps onto Clint’s face, it doesn’t work.

“Is there a proximity limit?”

“I don’t know,” Tony answers Steve’s question with a long-suffering look. “Do I _look_ like a wizard to you?”

**One day they’re going to have the most glorious hatesex the world has seen,** Clint’s mental voice supplies and Bucky makes a choking noise to cover the laughter that nearly spills out of him. Steve looks at him with a puzzled expression and Tony raises an eyebrow. Bucky waves them off, still trying to purge the mental images from his head.

_**What if I started thinking about Natasha’s sex life?** _

Clint snorts out loud. _**It’s not like I haven’t seen or heard it before. You’re going to have to do worse than that.**_

“Stop that,” Tony orders, crossing his arms. “You’re not allowed to have secret conversations in front of us. We have a rule against that.”

“That rule’s about Tasha and Bucky talking shit about us in Russian, not accidental telepathic bonds,” Clint argues. “We can’t just stop thinking, Stark.”

“You did a pretty good job of it when you touched Strange’s shit,” Tony retorts. “Are you this much of an idiot on purpose or was it the circus school?”

Clint folds his arms and leans back in his chair as Bucky feels a pang that settles hard and uncomfortable in his gut. “Mostly it’s for attention.”

Bucky realizes the feeling is _hurt_ a second later and has to look back at Clint’s face. There’s nothing that even slightly suggest Tony’s comment upset him, it’s a perfectly neutral look with one eyebrow raised in challenge at Stark. There’s not even a glimmer of it in his eyes or the curve of his mouth, indistinguishable from a normal look. There’s no way he could tell the difference if he couldn’t _feel_ it and Bucky wonders how many times they’ve said something that upset him without even knowing. Because there’s no way anyone could tell from looking a him, and that’s- worrying, more than anything.

“Are we allowed to leave or are we stuck here?”

He directs the question at Steve because he’s not sure what to make of this new information. Bucky forgets, for a second, that his discomfort rebounds back to Clint until he gets a faintly puzzled sensation back. He ignores it. At least they only seem to get emotions unless they try hard. He’s not sure he could deal with Clint knowing _everything_ he thought- the background feelings are bad enough.

Steve glances back at Tony for confirmation, gets a shrug in return before he turns to Bucky again. “Sure, Buck. Maybe you should stay around the Tower for now, though? Just in case there’s any problems.”

“I wasn’t going to the Ritz,” Bucky says dryly as he gets up to leave.

He ends up on the roof, looking out at the stacks of buildings and the smaller stacks of people, too small to identify but there nonetheless. He should probably take a shower and get rid of the dirt and mess from the explosion, and yet he’s up here instead. Thinking. Normally he’d come up here to be alone, when the world got a little too loud and a little too abrasive. He’s still alone, _technically_ , but he can feel a buzz of warmth that he’s started to recognize as Clint’s presence.

It’s… not as bad as he expects it to be.

If he’s completely honest, it’s kind of nice. At base line, Clint feels like sunshine; warm and light and unintrusive. He’s just _there_ , he’s not prying into Bucky’s head or being annoying in a way that feels uncomfortable. As it is, all Bucky can feel from him aside from the ever-there sunshine sensation is a faint sense of amusement that shifts into boredom. It’s reassuring in a way he wouldn’t expect from having someone literally _inside_ his head. The soft boredom turns into displeasure, sharp and coppery on his tongue. It’s interesting, the way it flares strong and hot for a second and then settles into a more muted sensation.

He concentrates enough to send a message. _**You okay?**_

**_I want to go feed my dog,_** Clint’s voice echoes in his head immediately, displeased. **_It_ _’s not like it’s contagious or anything. I’m not going to psychically violate the population._**

_**You’re not really violating me either,**_ Bucky answers. He tries to stifle his own surprise at the idea of Clint having a dog- or looking after _anything_ , really, given he’s awful at looking after himself. It’s not really an insult but a brutal truth, considering the last time they’d gone on a mission Clint had broken three bones in his foot and hadn’t said anything. Natasha had ended up dragging him to the medical floor by his ear. _**Think they’ll let you go if I come too?**_

_**Nah,**_ Clint replies. _**That’d be worse. Then we’d both be gone and they’d have no one to stare at disapprovingly. I’ll just ask Kate, she breaks into my apartment all the time anyway.**_

It must be nice, having somewhere to go that isn’t a tower full of superhumans. Bucky wishes he could just piss off to a place he owned; unfortunately if he tried to go anywhere Steve would follow, and then Steve would be sad because he’d miss Tony and Natasha and Sam. He can’t do that to Steve, so he’s stuck here for the foreseeable future. It’s not like he hates it- he likes some things. The coffee, for one, and the range. Gossiping with Natasha.

Clint.

Not that he’d say that out loud, of course.

**_Hey, Natasha wants to know if you want your Kung Pao chicken made like she did in Omsk._ **

**_God no,_** he answers. _**That was the worst thing I’ve ever tasted- it should’ve been illegal. I don’t think she even used chicken.**_

_**She can do a lot of things, but cooking? Not her strong suit,**_ Clint agrees, and then goes quiet for a minute. _**She seems happy with that. Looks like we passed her test. I hope she’s not going to use me as a walkie-talkie to you now.**_

_**She likes staring into people’s souls when she talks to them. The novelty’ll wear off in a few hours,**_ Bucky reasons, rides the spike of amusement it pings off in the back of his head. Clint doesn’t say anything else and Bucky assumes he’s gone back to talking to Natasha. He laces his hands behind his head and lies back on the concrete. The sky looks almost too blue to be real, here. It’s like an abstract sort of dream, knowing he’s this close to the sky when he spent his childhood with his face in the dirt.

Maybe none of it’s real. Maybe he’s still lying in a cryochamber somewhere, dreaming of a life that isn’t spent as a murderous machine. Deep down in the ice where the scientists watch him through the glass fearfully and the soldiers use him as a threat. If this is all created by his frostbitten mind he’s done a pretty good job. Although he’s not sure why his subconscious decided he needed another chaotic blond, especially one that manages to swing effortlessly between taking thirty years off his lifespan from worry and being so casually flirty his brain falls out.

Steve’s easy. Bucky knows exactly what Steve wants from him.

Clint, he’s got no idea.

_**Do you think if you concentrate hard enough you can possess my body and pretend to be me so I can take a nap?** _

_**I wouldn’t even if I could,**_ he says, wonders how Clint manages to snort at him through a mental connection. If he’s honest with himself, possessing Clint would just result in an hour of standing in front of a mirror admiring those arm muscles up close. His new-found autonomy has resulted in a lot of staring where Clint’s concerned. It’s getting to the point where even Steve’s noticing and he’s very glad Clint is even more oblivious than his best friend.

“Hi, James,” Bruce greets, and Bucky blinks his eyes open to see the man sitting down next to him. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed them in the first place. He thinks Bruce might’ve learned the ‘James’ thing from Natasha, because it’s just the two of them that call him that.

“Hey, Bruce,” he says instead of questioning it. “Did you want somethin’? We didn’t have to fuck with the arm until Sunday, right?”

“No, it’s not the arm,” Bruce says hurriedly, and Bucky sees him wave his hands out of the corner of his vision. “I heard about your- um, situation, and I wanted to offer some meditation techniques I learned for the Other Guy.”

“...hm?”

“To keep Clint out,” Bruce offers. “I haven’t done tests- there _aren’t_ any test subjects because you two are a unique situation, but you might be able to block him while you do it.”

“I- that’s not necessarily, Banner. But thanks,” he says. He doesn’t stop to question himself about why he isn’t bothered by Clint’s presence in his head. He trusts Clint. The thought process can stop there. He sits up and Bruce blinks at him curiously, legs crossed comfortably. Bucky pushes his hair away from his face and avoids the searching look he gets by staring out at the city. “I trust him,” he adds, suddenly uncomfortable.

“That’s great,” Bruce answers, and only he could make that sound completely sincere.

__

__

It’s embarrassingly easy to get used to Clint just being _there_ all the time, like having a shadow that cracks jokes at inopportune times and makes him feel… less alone, somehow. Not that he’d say that out loud. Or to Clint. He remembers his time as Bucky Barnes before the war but he also remembers being the Soldier, completing missions, always cold and always alone. Now he’s not alone; he has the team, and now even when they have to spread out he has Clint’s voice warm and bright in his head like a lifeline.

He never actually asks, but he thinks that his own presence is a source of comfort for Clint as well, because despite promising to no one but Natasha and Bucky have learned ASL for when his hearing aids are out. Bucky’s signing is still shaky and awkward- he forgets how to sign the things he wants to sign often and he knows it’s frustrating for Clint. Now all he has to do is appear when he feels that now-familiar thread of frustration and repeat whatever Clint says to him, out loud. He doesn’t know how Clint feels about it in _general_ , but he knows he’s at least being useful.

The problem starts when he wakes up early one morning.

Bucky doesn’t even realize he’s awake at first, because he’s warm and floating and the low pulse of heat feels dreamlike, an indistinct sort of feeling. It’s nice, though, a smooth flow of pleasure that has him sighing and rolling onto his stomach. He sinks a little deeper into the sensation and it’s like stepping into a bath that’s just _slightly_ too hot, his fingertips tingling from it. The images in the dream are blurry and unclear from being half-awake but he’s aware of the drag of wet skin against his body, a calloused hand drifting down his stomach. The rough fingers drag against his hard dick- when did that happen? -and wrap around it loosely, already slick with lube.

He’s aware in a distant sort of sense that it’s not real, because he can feel his own arms tucked under his pillow, but it’s _nice_ and he shifts his hips against the mattress restlessly, rides the little sparks of pleasure that it produces. The sheets are soft cotton and while they’re not the most arousing thing, if he focuses enough he feels the hand instead, jerking him off tight and wet. _God_ , it’s good. He’s aware faintly that he’s making little moaning noises into the pillow- the room isn’t soundproofed, he should really stop and make sure Steve isn’t around to accidentally hear him.

The fingers speed up from their previously leisurely pace and Bucky bites the pillowcase to try and stifle the sounds, his hips twitching into the sheets. The lazy friction is only an undercurrent of _feelsgoodyes_ compared to the way his brain’s firing off from the dream he’s still grasping at. Another hand shoves up the fabric of his shirt and he has a split second to think _when did I get a Hawkeye shirt?_ before fingers twist at his nipple and he’s gasping and coming from the mixture of pleasure and pain ricocheting through his body.

Bucky must blank out for a few long minutes because when he opens his eyes there’s nothing buzzing through the mental connection to Clint except for raw panic and a flutter of embarrassment.

Oh, shit. Clint.

_**Was that you?** _

_**Fuck, shit, fucking- I am so sorry,**_ comes through the connection before a brick wall slams down between them. He can still feel Clint, but it’s muted, and when he tries to reach out his mind just feels concrete under his fingers.

Well, the Hawkeye shirt makes sense now.

He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. His underwear is damp and sticky- it’s disgusting, but he’s still trying to process what just happened. He’s somehow managed to _piggyback_ on Clint jerking off. So much for not being able to possess one another. Although that hadn’t felt like he was actively doing anything with Clint’s body. Bucky wasn’t actively moving any limbs or anything, he was just watching through Clint’s eyes and feeling it. Just… being a voyeur, as Natasha would call it. Accidentally.

Whoops.

They don’t have time to talk about it that morning- Bucky goes up to Clint’s floor to find him and is told by JARVIS that the Avengers have been called out on a mission. He spends the next few hours trying to stamp down the anxiety that keeps buzzing around him. It’s not Clint’s anxiety, it’s his.  
  
He can still feel the edges of Clint’s consciousness, however far away he might be, the thread of vague emotions that flicker from boredom to annoyance to embarrassment.  
  
The wall slips down after the first few hours but Bucky doesn’t attempt to contact Clint- disrupting a mission because of something so trivial feels bad. He’s kept away from Avengers’ missions for the same reason, he’s not willing to be a distraction or a problem as the Winter Soldier _or_ Bucky Barnes. He’s stupidly relieved that he can feel Clint again, though the embarrassment is still tinting the edges of the connection. Even a few hours of the muted feeling had stressed him out more than he’d like to admit and he ends up curled on the couch in a blanket, scowling out at the window.

Bruce comes in and makes him a cup of tea. It sits on the coffee table and he watches the steam rise from it.

Bucky thinks- he _likes_ Clint, he’s not stupid enough to deny it. Clint’s hot and quirky and he always makes time to hang out with Bucky even at three in the morning when Bucky’s woken up dreaming of the train again. It’s quite possible he’s perfect- not in the normal sense of the word, no, but perfect for Bucky to spend time with. Friendship or otherwise. So he accidentally linked in when he was asleep. It’s awkward, yes, but it’s not something that’ll break their relationship entirely. Bucky’s not willing to let it. If he’s overstepped boundaries he’ll apologize, and if he hasn’t… well.

He’s never let himself think about the possibility that Clint might want more.

Bucky considers, briefly, asking Bruce about it, but then he remembers the man nearly flat-lining the time they were working on the arm and he asked about bisexuality. When he looks back up Bruce is leaving the room anyway, scuttling away in a manner that the Hulk could never hope to replicate. He yawns and settles back into the couch. Half of Steve and Tony’s problems are that they don’t talk to each other- well, they _do_ , but never in a particularly clever way. Bucky’s not buying into that kind of stupidity with Clint. They can figure it out.

The resolve feels good, until he feels a sharp stab of pain spike through his bones.

Then the connection goes dead.

**_Clint? Clint!_ **

Nothing. Shit.

He throws the blanket aside and starts heading towards the elevator without any active thought. Something’s happened. Shit, something’s happened to Clint on the mission. Please don't be dead. He only realizes he’s punched the button for the weapons storage when the elevator door dings open and he blinks at all the stacked shelves of guns.

The guns he isn’t allowed within fifty meters of.

His phone rings and he answers it without looking at the screen. “Yeah?”

“Can you feel anything from Clint?”

Bucky grimaces. “No.”

“Right,” Natasha says, distaste dripping off of her words. “He fell into the ball pit.”

“The ball p- what?”

“Von Doom was plotting in a children’s fun center,” she explains. “Clint got caught in the crossfire, then got knocked out and fell into the ball pit. It’s the biggest ball pit in America and we can’t find him in there. Can you wake him up before we lose Thor as well? It stinks.”

“That’s…” Bucky trails off. He’d been _worried_. And Clint was just stuck in a glorified playground? Unconscious, sure, but Bucky had thought that he’d been- Jesus Christ. “What the _fuck_?”

“Just find him, James,” Natasha orders, sounding irritated. “We’re not spending all day wading through this plastic to locate him.”

Probably not the best attitude to have towards a teammate, but Bucky knows that Natasha loves Clint more than the world. It’s just the situation that is irreparably stupid. A ball pit. America’s biggest ball pit. She’s right to be exasperated, really. It’s a very _Clint_ sort of thing to happen. He closes his eyes and tries to find that little thread of connection. It’s there, even though it’s silent, and he tries to take ahold of it mentally and _yanks_.

It’s like watching all the lights go on at once, illuminating the shadows. Clint’s mind slams back into his, sunshine-bright and blinding. It’d hurt if it wasn’t such a relief. **_Wh- the fuck? Bucky?_**

**_Get out the pit. Nat’s mad,_** he supplies.

_**Bucky,**_ Clint repeats, and the wave of affection nearly swamps him. **_Bucky, I missed you._**

_**I missed you too,**_ he answers, amused. Is this what happens when you don’t let people stay unconscious? ** _ _Stick your hand up in the air so they can find you.__** He feels Clint do it immediately, and he’s a little amused by how it’s done without even the slightest bit of thought. Clint trusts him a lot. It’s a little stupid, but it’s endearing. He hears Natasha’s soft snort through the phone and assumes they’ve seen his hand as she hangs up. He’s done his job here, apparently.

He draws back from Clint’s mind and looks at the guns still waiting there for him. Wonders if he really would’ve gone back out in the field again just for this reckless idiot he’s stuck with. The answer is yes, irrevocably yes, but he’s relieved it hasn’t come to that. He presses the button for the common floor and resolves to check Clint for a concussion. He’s feeling a little woozy.

“Hi,” Clint greets when he steps onto Bucky’s floor still dressed in his mission gear, heavy black and obnoxious purple, shifts on his feet like he’s thinking about running away. It’s become almost weird to hear his voice out loud now. There’s a bruise colouring on his cheekbone and a Captain America-themed bandaid stuck on his nose. Bucky hands him a coffee, unperturbed, and he looks down into the steam with a faintly distressed look before he looks back at Bucky. “I’m sorry I w- I’m sorry about earlier. I mean. You know.”

“I would’ve appreciated a warning,” Bucky says dryly.

“I was being stealthy,” Clint replies, petulant, sits down in a corner of the couch. “Thought you’d be unconscious. You don’t normally get up until like, ten.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky retorts. “You think Hydra let me sleep in?”

“Fuck _you_ ,” Clint snipes back, but there’s no venom in it. Then he sighs, draws his feet up so he’s curled up and nonthreatening. It’d work if Bucky didn’t know he could kill a man with a paperclip. Still, he doesn’t look like he’ll be killing anyone right now. The expression on his face is more mopey than murderous. “Is this weird now? Have I fucked it up? Should I like, go away and hide in my apartment for the rest of my miserable exist-”

“No,” Bucky interrupts. “You’re an idiot.”

Clint looks up from his coffee again but this time his gaze is searching Bucky’s face. Looking for something. Bucky feels his cheeks heat up. Why is it so hard to explain that he _liked_ it? That he’d be open to doing it a little more consensually next time around? If Clint wants a next time around, that is. The chaotic swirl of embarrassment and _want_ must translate to Clint well enough because he goes red too and looks away, but Bucky still feels the faint thread of something that tastes like hope. It's times like this he's stupidly relieved for the bond because there's no way he could put that into words without dying.

**_Was it… weirdly intense for you too?_ **

_**Yeah,**_ Bucky answers. _**It was… yeah.** Best thing I’ve felt in eighty years,_ he finishes in the safety of his own brain. Clint looks like he sympathizes anyway. They sit in silence for a minute as Clint thinks that over silently, drinking his coffee. The next feeling Bucky picks up from his mind reminds him of the sensation he got before jumping off a very tall building- when you’re looking off the edge and seeing how far you’re going to fall, the adrenaline spiking up your spine. Scary, but enticing in a way that felt inevitable.

**_Would you want to try it… together? Like._ **

**_The first time short-circuited our brains and you want to try it again,_** Bucky says, not exactly disapproving, but his tone is flat enough that Clint flinches next to him. **_How do you want to do this?_**

_That_ gets him a reaction. The worry emanating from Clint dissipates into something like anticipation, and fond- still with a thread of anxiety laced through it, but he watches as Clint sets down the coffee on the table and turns to him, all careful grace. He’s half-expecting to watch a striptease but instead he gets Clint throwing a leg over his thighs and sitting in his lap comfortably. Bucky has a few seconds to run his hands up leather-clad thighs and marvel at the flex of muscle under his fingers before Clint’s leaning in to kiss him.

Clint kisses Bucky like he’s trying to commit every second to memory, his hands drifting up Bucky’s chest. It’s unexpected but pleasant and he gets a little lost in the feel Clint’s mouth against his. Clint’s gloved right hand is soft and careful of his left shoulder where the arm still aches sometimes and it’s __so much__ that Clint still thinks of things like this- when the bond is radiating a mix of warmth and arousal- that it makes his heart ache. Bucky’s hands end up on the barely-there curve of Clint’s hips over his pants, and the soft noise Clint makes into his mouth is. It’s a _lot_.

Bucky breaks it off and bites at Clint’s throat, nips at the exposed skin, and the way the pulse of heat rebounds from Clint to him has them both sucking in a shaky breath. Clint yanks off his shirt like it’s on fire and Bucky can’t help sliding his hands up to warm skin, quietly marveling at the sight.

“Bed?” Clint’s voice is shaky as Bucky’s fingers rub over a nipple. “You- you don’t sleep on the floor or something, do you? Steve said he did, once.”

“No, I don’t sleep on the goddamn floor,” he says, although it’s hard to be annoyed right now, and stands up with the metal arm under Clint’s ass to support him. Bucky has to silently catalogue the hot rush he gets from the bond at that action- Clint _likes_ being manhandled. That’s something Bucky can abuse later. Maybe the serum’s good for something other than ruining his life after all. He takes a few steps towards the bedroom and ends up pressing Clint against the wall instead to kiss him again, too desperate to wait.

It hits him, then, that they’re about to fuck.

“Don’t I need to take you on a date first or somethin’?”

Clint lets out a distracted-sounding laugh, nips at his jaw, breath hot on Bucky’s ear. “What did you think all those times I took you out for pizza were?”

“Wh- oh.” Huh. “Really?”

“I mean, I was _hoping_ ,” Clint says as Bucky finds the motivation to get through the bedroom door. He drops Clint down on the mattress and watches the lazy sprawl of his limbs, the self-satisfied smirk on his face. It’s almost a shame to get his hands on the zipper of Clint’s tac pants and ruin the picture, undoing them as Clint helps kick them off. Clint’s still talking the whole time, and Bucky leaves him to babble as he works on getting Clint’s underwear off. There are neon yellow ducks printed on them. He doesn’t know what he expected. “Clearly subtlety isn’t working. I’ll woo you properly later? Or I’ll let you woo me, whatever, give me free food and I’m sold. After we have mind-blowing, earth-shaking sex we can talk about our relationsh- _oh_ , fuck.”

Bucky makes a thoughtful humming noise and thrills in the way Clint arches up into his mouth, thighs flexing under his hands. Bucky tightens his grip just enough that Clint’s movement is restricted, keeps sucking him off. The twist of heat and want that sparks through the bond feels like it’s coming from both of them and it’s almost overwhelming levels of intensity, the feeling rebounding back between them until Bucky has to pull off, gasping. He’s so hard it hurts and he hasn’t even touched himself yet, so enraptured with Clint’s reactions through their connection. A tube hits his forehead squarely and he catches it as it falls, looks down at the lube and then up at Clint’s face.

That’s a mistake, really, because Clint’s looking at him all flushed and desperate and it’s borderline _obscene_ , with his shiny-wet cock and spread legs.

“If you do not fuck me I will literally die,” Clint says.

Well, Bucky hadn’t exactly expected verbal finesse. It's weirdly endearing. He drags his tongue up the side of Clint’s dick at the same time he uncaps the lube, feels Clint shiver under his lips as he gets his fingers slick. He twists one finger in as he starts sucking Clint off again, focusing despite the stabs of _pleaseyeswant_ coming through the bond. It’s easy to get lost in the sensations coming from someone else and get distracted, but Bucky stays on-task with some effort. Clint pushes back onto his fingers with a bitten-off moan, and Bucky’s tempted to tease him but the sheer desperation he can feel is so strong he nearly chokes on it.

“Condom? Wait, can you even catch anything?”

Bucky pulls off, works the muscles in his jaw. It’s been a while since he’s blown someone, and maybe that’s part of why he’d be happy just kneeling at the foot of this bed forever, but he thinks most of it is just Clint. He stands up, pushes one of Clint’s thighs to his chest and enjoys the way Clint’s still shifting to get more of his fingers. Undoes his pants with the other hand and shoves them down his legs to kick them off, gets ahold of the lube again. “I can’t. Should I wear one anyway?”

“No, don’t,” Clint says in that way that’s too soft to be an order. He’s still demanding, though, and it’s oddly endearing.

He pushes in and Clint groans, lets his head fall back down to the mattress with a soft thunk. Bucky’s swamped by his own feelings this time because it’s tight and hot, Clint clenching around him and muttering something about him being _so goddamn big _.__ Clint’s hand reaches out to hook in his hair and pull him into a kiss that’s mostly teeth, edged with a bone-deep need that’s so prominent he can’t tell who it’s coming from.

“If you don’t move I might stab you,” Clint murmurs against his mouth, and despite not being threatened in the slightest Bucky’s hips snap against his ass immediately.

It’s a little rough but Clint sighs like it’s _good_. Of course he likes it, Bucky thinks with amusement as he falls into a rhythm that’s a little sharper than he’d normally use. He’s starting to think rough handling is exactly what Clint wants from him- it’s fair, considering how tall Clint is, it’s probably a rare thing for him. Clint tugs on his hair, causing the thread of pain to bounce between them and Bucky bites into his lip to stop the sounds that his body is threatening to make.

“Fuck,” he grits out instead, gets his hands on Clint’s hips and digs his fingertips in.

Clint moans and Bucky watches his eyes flicker open, stare unseeingly somewhere past Bucky’s ear. “I can feel you fucking me,” he breathes, and with the situation they’re in that has a whole new meaning.

Clint gets a hand around his own cock as Bucky reaches for that space where the bond is thrumming in the back of his head. He can feel the rush of heat and want without trying but as he tugs at it a little he starts understanding why Clint looks so blindingly undone. Fucking Clint already has his brain swimming with static but he can feel Clint’s end of it as well, now, the sparks every time his prostate is brushed and the delicious mix of pain-pleasure that Clint’s reveling in. That's a lot.

“Fuck,” he says again, with feeling. “’m close, Clint, _fuck_ -”

_**Me too,**_ Clint answers a little frantically, and Bucky can feel him trembling with the effort to hold himself together. Clint's callouses rub against his dick at the same time Bucky thrusts in hard and Clint’s shaking, pulls Bucky’s sweaty forehead to press against his as he gasps. It’s almost _too much_ to come but then Bucky’s whiting out completely with the rush of his orgasm, Clint’s slamming into him at the same time.

He must pass out for a few seconds because he opens his eyes to realize he’s collapsed on top of Clint, his heart still going a million beats a second. He feels disoriented, like he’s hit his head particularly hard except it’s the muscles in his arms and thighs that are aching, and it’s a good kind of ache anyway. It feels like his skin is electrified, everything buzzing with nerves and oversensitivity. Clint’s breathing is off too, uneven under Bucky’s body.

_**How do limbs work again?** _

_**Fuck, I don’t know,**_ Bucky answers unsteadily after spending a minute remembering how to reply. **_Please don’t move._**

**_You’re laying on me,_** Clint replies dryly. **_I can’t move._**

He disproves that almost immediately, though, because the world tilts sideways and Bucky realizes Clint’s used his hips and legs alone to flip them. His softened cock slips out and Clint bites his already red lip and shivers, the sensation far too much after what could arguably be two simultaneous orgasms. He sees the trail of white on the inside of Clint’s thigh and the mess smeared up his stomach and chest, grimaces as his dick gives a half-hearted twitch. Clint must feel it too, because he snickers and then rolls off Bucky onto his side.

Bucky manages to get the energy to wrap an arm around his shoulder and pull him closer. Clint sighs and settles against him as they try to find the balance between being oversensitive and enjoying the afterglow.

**_You’re not gonna clean up?_ **

_**Fuck that,**_ Clint grumbles. **_Later. Shower together?_**

**_**** _ **

**_**** _ **

“What do you want, Stark?”

“Where have you been? I called you like five times, Barnes, you have ears for a reason.”

“Shower,” Bucky supplies. He doesn’t add that once he got out of the shower he just ignored the next three calls and only answered when it got to be too annoying.

“We’ve figured out how to reverse the bond,” Tony says, and Bucky flops back, head landing in Clint’s lap. Clint starts petting his hair idly, looking down at Bucky with amusement. He’s got his stupid duck underpants on again, but that’s all the effort he’s made. To be fair, Bucky hasn’t even got underwear. They’d left Clint’s hearing aids on the bathroom sink, so he can’t actually hear what Tony’s saying, but he must feel the uncertainty through the bond because he blinks and raises an eyebrow.

“-and with the fragments of the artifact we’ve reversed the polarity, so we made a machine that should just block off the connection, no harm done,” Tony continues. Bucky wasn’t listening to a word he’d said.

“Right,” he says.

“Have you seen Barton? He’s not answering his phone either,” Tony adds.

“Nope,” Bucky says. “No clue. Sorry. Bye.”

“Wait a s-” Tony starts, voice rising, but Bucky presses the button to hang up before he gets the chance to build up into a Full Stark Rant. He sighs and drops the phone onto the pillow. Clint continues stroking through his hair softly, in some attempt at being comforting. It works, oddly enough. When he’s not being such a power bottom- yes, Bucky knows what that means, he can use the internet, unlike Steve- he’s actually kind of sweet. Bucky hates himself a little bit for liking it this much. It’s just so _nice_ and he can feel the contentedness rolling off of Clint in waves.

He doesn’t want to lose this.

**_What’s that face all about?_ **

**_Tony can fix the bond. Turn it off,_** he explains, because he can’t just lie to Clint. Both morally _and_ literally because he’s fairly sure Clint will know if he’s not telling the truth through the connection. He’s not sure what he’s expecting Clint to do- talk about it, maybe, suggest that they go for it and try a relationship without being mentally connected to each other the whole time.

Instead, Clint scrunches up his nose like he’s smelled something bad, but doesn’t stop his rhythmic petting of Bucky’s hair. He’d suggested a Thor-esque braid in the shower, but Bucky had turned down the idea. **_Did you tell him to fuck off?_**

**_Not exactly,_** Bucky answers, watches Clint’s face do that carefully-blank thing again. “No, don’t do that, hang on,” he says out loud, reaches up to cup his face. Clint’s eyes go a fraction wider and Bucky wonders if he’s ever been caught out on it before. **_I told him I didn’t know where you were and then I hung up. I wasn’t going to do anything without talking to you._**

“Oh,” Clint says out loud, looks surprised. Like he’s used to people making decisions for him without asking for his opinion.

**_Do you want me to tell him to fuck off?_ **

**_I mean. Yes?_** Clint flushes slightly. _**Do you want to keep... this?**_

**_I thought that was obvious,_** Bucky replies dryly. **_We still have a date to go on._**

Clint’s answering smile is a revelation. The corner in his mind reserved for Clint feels brighter all of a sudden, the giddy light filtering into his own mind. It’s _nice_. Warm. Bucky realizes, in that moment looking up at Clint’s little pleased expression, that maybe the sunshine feeling he’s always gotten from Clint actually _is_ a genuine emotion after all. He just… hadn’t been able to identify what it was until now.

He thinks he knows, now.


End file.
